


"Oh My God"

by kavikdante33



Series: Talking Dirty [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blasphemy, Dirty Talk, Don't listen to Gabriel, M/M, be safe sane & consensual, book burning, mentions of John Winchester - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 09:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2063058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kavikdante33/pseuds/kavikdante33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel turned pagan to hide from his family. He indulged in drinking, sex, chocolate, and everything else his pinched ass brethren condemned. So blasphemy isn't really isn't one of his major concerns.  And tricking Castiel into thinking the same, wasn't that hard. Unfortunately, Cas put his new belief into practice. In the bedroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Oh my God!"

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing but my insane brain. Careful when drinking or eating. The author is not responsible for any spit takes or spills while reading. Little or no knowledge of the speed of gravity falling out of Dean Winchester's bed. Willing to gain practical experience.

“Hmm, yeah sweetheart, right there. C’mon baby, fuck me good.”

 

“Yes, Cas, yes! Ohh, right there, Cas.”

 

“Cas, I’m gonna come. Right on your cock, angel.”

 

“CAS! OH HOLY FUCKING GOD!”

 

“ **JOHN FUCKING WINCHESTER!”**

 

“THUD!”

 

A previously fucked out and pleasured body fell out of the memory foam bed towards the floor. In the space of time it took gravity to assert its total mastery and dominance; (approximately 9.81 m/s2), over pathetic mortal bitches (notably those whose surname were also a brand of firearms); the body was no longer relaxed and basking in the typical post-coital aftermath. Instead, it had developed a nervous twitch of the eye and the beginnings of erectile dysfunction. Permanently.

 

“What. The. Fuck. Cas!”

 

“I was fucking you, Dean.”

 

“And then you screamed out my dad’s name as you came! What the hell?”

 

“Gabriel insisted that it was good manners to reciprocate the honor in one’s partner’s father if they choose to acknowledge your own progenitor.”

 

“…!”

 

“Was that not the correct form of address? Should an adjective be placed before the subject’s proper name and the word “fucking” or can it be placed anywhere. I do not wish to give offense to the man who created you Dean. John Winchester _could_ be considered holy for the act of union that led to your fertilization. Or would you prefer a different title for your father? ‘John Winchester, Holy Fuck’ or ‘Holy Fuck Winchester the Elder, predeceased’? Should I get Sam’s opinion as well since he was also his father?”

 

“…!”

 

“Dean, I am not sure what your facial expression is supposed to signify. You are closing and shutting your mouth without sound issuing forth. Should I call Sam for interpretation?”

 

“I can’t fully understand you when you scream into the pillow Dean. Why would Gabriel be an asshat? Is that a special type of milliner? Angels don’t wear hats in our true forms. Or halos, so I am unsure of how you plan on feeding the imaginary head ornamentation to him.”


	2. "Oh Christ"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cause Gabriel is a little shit. And Castiel still wants to believe in the best of people. Sam just wants his bottle of brain bleach while Dean just wants to get laid without any outside interference. Is that too much to ask? If your name is Winchester, hell yeah.

“You’re just dripping for me. You like that angel? Taking it up the ass from a mere human?”

 

“You’re so fucking dirty Cas, wide open and wet. So fucking _hot_. Betcha I could get you to come just on my dick alone, huh, angel.”

 

“Oh Go-, fucking damn, you’re so tight. Let me hear you Cas. Let me hear all those pretty, pretty moans for me angel.”

 

“Yeah, come for me Cas. Oh, damn…just like that baby…gonna fill you up Cas so much it leaks out of you…mark you up…gonna come…OH CHRIST!

 

“Dean, oh, more please…OH SAM!”

 

Dean’s backside was becoming well acquainted with the floor of his room. And not in a sexy way. He scrambled to pull covers over his body, find a weapon, and yell at his brother for being a rude, interrupting bitch, all at the same time. He managed two out of three.

 

Sam continued to be a rude, interrupting bitch that was also _invisible_.

 

Green eyes darted around trying to find a six-foot-plus plaid wearing moose in the small room. Adrenaline was still spiking causing his knuckles to turn white around the hilt of the angel blade. Either Sam had magical camouflage and could walk through locked doors (shit, he hoped Sam hadn’t turned ghost again) or…..A faint niggling thought was turning about in his mind.

 

Blue eyes peered quizzically over the edge of the bed to meet his. “Dean, are you alright?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine Cas, nothing hurt but my pride and ass”

 

“Do you want me to heal it? I quite like your ass and wouldn’t want you to be in pain.”

 

“Hmm, sure, Cas, but could you do me a favor first?”

 

“Anything.”

 

“Can you tell me why you felt the need to scream my brother’s name during sex after the conversation we had about appropriate pillow talk, lack of fathers, and the absolute, concrete rule of _NEVER_ , _ever_ , listening to you cock-blocking, douchebag of a feather duster brother regarding sex, music, food, and practically everything else in existence?”

 

“He appeared contrite?”

 

“Gabriel. Gabriel the damn Trickster. Who masqueraded as the pagan god Loki. The Mischief Maker. Appeared. Contrite!”

 

“He apologized profusely for giving me wrongful information. He then showed me the correct material and suggested that bonding over siblings would be a better alternative for us. I was dubious over the sources, but several of them were associated with the prophet Chuck’s writing.”

 

“Oh God…shit. Cas, were they stories and if so, were any of them written by a Becky?” _I promise to never take your name in vain again if the answer is no_.

 

“Ms. Rosen was a prolific writer of many of the resources.

 

_God fucking damn the goddamn prophet right up his goddamn ass._

“Okay, new rule. If you have a question about sex, food, music, or the even how to brush your teeth, you. Ask. Me. Not Sam. Not Kevin. Not the internet. And certainly not Gabriel. Got it?

 

“Very well.”

 

“Great.”

 

“Dean?”

 

“Yeah, Cas?”

 

“If the point of a safe word is one that cannot be mistaken for any normal word or phrase in a sexual situation and conveys one’s emotional and physical state, would not John Winchester or Sam be appropriate for you to use if you wish to advance or halt a scene?”

 

“Oh Christ, I need a God damn drink.”

 

“While I would prefer not to take my Father’s name in vain, perhaps I could use another one of my siblings’ names to balance our exchange? Michael? Balthazar? I suppose you would prefer for me not to call out “Gabriel” during intercourse.

 

“You rang, little brother?”

 

“YOU! YOU FUCKING ASS!”

 

“Ah, Deanie-weanie, you only wish you were fucking this ass.”

 

“THEN LET ME INTRODUCE IT TO MY BLADE, YOU PRICK!”

 

“Sorry, but I’m not that much of a masochistic, so I’m gonna safe word out. JOHN FUCK’IN WINCHESTER!”

 

***

Sam returned to the bunker several hours later to find the splintered remains of furniture, bloody sheets, and dozens of burnt copies of Fifty Shades in a magically conjured up dumpster. Cas was calmly sitting at one of the library’s tables, focused entirely on Sam’s laptop.

 

“Uh, hi Cas. What the hell happened here?”

 

“Hello Sam. Our brothers decided to act in a violently crazed manner without safe words and everyone’s consent in the matter. I decided they need a “time-out” when Gabriel tried to crush Dean with a crate of those books.” Castiel nodded his head towards the still smoldering novels.

 

“Dean is currently locked in the dungeon and Gabriel is trapped in a ring of holy fire in one of the storage rooms. They will be let out when they have learned their lesson.”

 

_Hey Satan, what’s the weather like down there? Should I grab my skates? No? Okay._

“And you are doing what with my laptop?”

 

“Dean said I was not allowed to talk to you about it.”

 

_Please don’t be looking up porn. Please don’t be looking up porn. Please don’t be looking up kinky porn written by fangirls about you and Dean and freezing it on the screen._

“However, he never said I could not seek out others he did not exclude concerning some inquiries I have. I have been emailing the beings whose email addresses I currently know.”

 

Sam was momentarily knocked out of his terrifying thoughts about fanfiction and fangirls by an even more horrible one. Castiel might have knocked around a bit on earth with the Winchesters, but his contacts were limited to people who had died (numerous), people already in the bunker (for the given definition of ‘people’) and…. _beings_.

 

 _Oh shit_.

 

“Cas…please tell me you are not emailing the King of Hell about the relationship between you and my brother!”

 

Cas stared at Sam and then turned back to the laptop.

 

“Very well, Sam, I won’t tell you. Charlie and Ms. Rosen have also been useful confidantes as well though. Sam? Sam, you are turning the same shade as your brother earlier. Fascinating. Is it a genetic trait or a learned behavior? Is it similar to camouflage in animals? You even make the same indecipherable sounds.”

 

_Click_

 

“Oh, I have two new emails. Crowley has sent several videos. What does buggering mean? Is it related to insect activity? Charlie’s email has links to art sites and something called Tumblr. She says I should search for destiel tags. What is a tag? Sam? Are you composed enough to view these with me now?”

 

Over six feet of pure breed Winchester moose slammed across the table head first into the laptop. Both challengers struggled mightily but ultimately ended up sliding off the table onto the floor. The laptop fell in defeat, shattered into thousands of pieces. The triumphant victor slammed his already dazed head into the floor one more time, praying for sweet oblivion. For once in his life his prayers were answered. His last hazy sight was of Cas staring mournfully at the laptop, snapping it back into mint condition.

 

_Oh, sweet baby Jesus, please don’t let Cas heal me goddamn it._

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
